


Things aren't always what they seem...

by LilliumRosa



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilliumRosa/pseuds/LilliumRosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was back where it had started, where their game had made its conclusions with a gun and a coat of explosives. The pool...</p><p>Things are not always what they seem, even in Sherlock Holmes' world. When he had stepped off the aeroplane, Sherlock had expected a lot of things, but he could say for certain that this definitely wasn't one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A new day, a new game

As Sherlock made his way down the steps of the aeroplane, he felt worried. Moriarty couldn’t have survived, could he? A shot like that wasn’t something you just bounced back from. Putting those thoughts out of his head for the time being, he stepped forward and smiled at John.

"I guess the game really is still on…" Sherlock smiled broadly, just relieved not to be exiled.

"And the players never do seem to change." John returned his smile with gusto, letting Sherlock know that he would always be there to play the game with him.

"It would seem so…"

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Untraceable"

John looked up, watching Sherlock pace.

"How can it be untraceable, Mycroft?" Sherlock stressed, "Nothing is untraceable to you, not really."

"This is beyond even my expertise, Sherlock." Mycroft was tired, he’d been up for 72 hours trying to get to the bottom of this transmission. It had come from nowhere and was apparently non-existent, despite appearing on every screen across the country.

"Even he's not this intelligent Mycroft!" Sherlock's pacing became erratic, the speed becoming worrying. If he continued like this he'd break something. Or someone.

"Sherlock, just calm down," John tried to placate Sherlock, fearing for his own safety when Sherlock whipped around, glare firmly attached, "You two will work this out, you always do. We just have to wait for them, whoever they are, to make the next move."

Sherlock sneered in his direction before continuing to pace, he needed desperately to solve this. He was certain that this was all centred around him. It couldn't be coincidence, the broadcast occurring simultaneously with his departure. Someone was desperate to keep him here, keep him in their game, even if he didn't know what sort of game they were playing.

"Mycroft, out."

Mycroft shot Sherlock a confused look before nodding in understanding, shutting his laptop and standing, "Do not preoccupy yourself with this too much, brother mine. As loathe as I am to admit, Dr Watson is right, there is nothing we can do for the time being."

Sherlock snarled at him then proceeded to collapse face first onto the sofa, he would probably be like that for a few hours yet.

Turning to face John, Mycroft paused, considering, "Do try to keep him out of harm's way Doctor Watson."

"Of course Mycroft, I do little else most days." John responded with a chuckle, showing Mycroft out.

As he turned to climb back up the stairs to 221b, John paused, a slight smile on his face. Despite the difficulties facing them, he was happy that Sherlock was staying. He wasn't sure he could face life without Sherlock, even with Mary at his side. He knew Sherlock would figure this out sooner or later, he was positive of it. Then they could go back to the life they had lead before the fall, all fun and games, getting themselves into trouble.

For the first time in a very long time, John allowed himself this small time to simply appreciate his life and all the good that surrounded it.


	2. The Plot Thickens

To say Sherlock was frustrated was an understatement. There hadn't been any new leads since the broadcast and he'd been tying himself in knots ever since. He had to know who it was and where they'd got the footage, and if it really was Moriarty then how on earth had he managed to survive the bullet in his brain? Of course, the body had been gone when they had come to collect it but they had supposed that one of Moriarty's goons had taken it when they were dealing with the aftermath of Sherlock's 'death'. Could he really be alive?

The likelihood of Moriarty surviving the bullet was slim to none, and if he had then it was highly improbable that he'd escaped without severe brain damage. A lesser man, like John, would suggest a blank instead of a real bullet, but the chances of survival when firing a blank at point blank range were significantly less than with a real bullet, the back of his head would have likely been blown off.

Sherlock was back to pacing across the living room of 221b, ignoring John pottering around the kitchen, making tea and being distinctly unhelpful. Leaning against the mantelpiece, Sherlock steepled his fingers and laid his head against them, trying to concentrate.

"Sherlock, you need to stop thinking so hard about this," John was stopped in front of the door, "Leads will come, when they come. There's no use dwelling so why not find another case to focus on? Take your mind off it?"

"You prattle on, yet I barely hear a word you say," Sherlock growled, "If you can't say anything intelligible then you needn't say anything at all!"

Stern frown on his face, John placed the cup of tea he had been holding on the desk, before turning and grabbing his jacket.

"I'll just be off then, shall I?"

With the last sentence, John pulled on his coat and stalked out of the flat, not waiting for Sherlock to respond. He doubted he actually had anyway.

Strolling onto Baker Street, John hailed a cab. He had missed Sherlock, but had forgotten how insufferable he could be when he was determined.  
Climbing into the cab, John informed the driver of his destination. He would go home to his loving wife and endeavoured to ignore Sherlock bloody Holmes for the rest of the day.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mary looked up at the man sat across from her. Her boss for the past three years sat, as usual, strangely relaxed given the recent events. The team had set off the broadcast impeccably, with nothing to trace it back to any of them.  
When John had come home, telling her that not even Mycroft Holmes could track it, she had been infinitely proud of a job well done on her part. If it had been traceable, it would have been her head on the chopping block and she couldn't have that. Not after all the work she had put in to get her life back from the disaster that had been her previous job.

"What's next then boss?" Mary's voice was almost gleeful. She had always loved the thrill of a well executed plan, the rush that came from ending a life and she knew that this would be no different.

"Time for the next stage I think," his voice even, not a shred of excitement in his tone, "Sherlock's getting restless and is starting to get lost in trying to work out the game. Let's give him another piece of the puzzle, see how he fairs. Though I doubt it will help much."

He turned stern eyes towards her, letting a false smile fall into place, noting her broad smile in return. Poor girl was completely besotted, followed his every whim and didn't question anything he asked her to do. Too bad she would have to go when this game was won, she had been mildly entertaining for a while, the hiccup with the pregnancy aside. She was still boring like the rest but he decided to throw her a bone.

"I've pulled Sebby back from Russia, he will assist you with this portion of the plan."

Her face lit up at this. He knew the pair enjoyed assignments together, taking particular pleasure in torturing their mark to breaking point. They worked seamlessly together, their talents complementing one another. He needed this to work perfectly, and if it was to be so then he needed his two best minions to be on the ball.

"Have fun, darling." He stood up, running a hand through her hair before bending to kiss her forehead. He would keep her in line and she would never see the betrayal coming until Sebby's knife sliced open her pretty little throat. "Now off you pop..."

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John glanced up from where he was sat, reading, as Mary walked through the door that evening. Smiling, he stood and kissed her lightly.

"Good day, love?"

She smiled, wide at him, sincerity evident in her voice, "The best," she replied as she placed herself down beside him, curling into his side.

She sighed contentedly, relaxing as he wrapped an arm around her.

"How's Sherlock?"

He rubbed a hand over his face, "Annoying as ever, still haven't spoken to him since I left earlier."

She offered a soft smile in comfort, "Well everything will work itself out soon. You know that."

"I know, he just gets so irritating when he's worked up," John shifted, squeezing her a bit tighter, "It marvellous to watch him work when he's not stuck, but right now I just want to smack his head off the nearest available surface whenever he starts sniping."

Snuggling further into John, Mary let her mind wander over the day's events. The operation had worked out perfectly and she knew he'd be proud. He would want to wait for Sherlock's response before discussing it with Sebastian and her, so she let herself enjoy a small moment of bliss with her husband.  
She was incredibly happy that Sebastian was back. The man was her best friend and her work was always on top form when they collaborated. Nodding softly, Mary let herself drift off to sleep, only to be awakened not five minutes later by the loud sound of John's phone. Sherlock's ringtone. That meant that she would be having a meeting later.

John stood up and grabbed the phone, answering quickly, "What is it Sherlock?" his tone irritated.

Watching John spin around suddenly, Mary grew concerned. Had the plan not gone well? Had Sherlock discovered the worst? No. He couldn't have. There was no way.

John held up a finger to Mary, pausing her before she even began to utter a word.

"Yeah Sherlock...yes, I'll be there as soon as possible...yes, I know you mean now. I'm coming alright?"

Mildly annoyed, John hung up the phone, turning back to Mary.

"Got to go deal with Sherlock, he's found a lead on our mystery broadcaster."

John leaned down, pressing a kiss to Mary's head, stroking her face fondly, "We'll talk later, alright?"

And with that, John was out of the door. He would sort out Sherlock, find out the new information he'd discovered then come straight back. He told himself that, but even he sincerely doubted he'd be leaving 221b before dawn...


	3. Not a bad start...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a massive apology for taking so long to update this! Been extra busy with uni, graduation, travelling and stuff, but hopefully I can get round to actually updating more frequently.
> 
> Secondly, a massive thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting and stuff! It means a lot :)

Walking through the door of 221b, John was faced with Sherlock and Lestrade in the middle of a rather loud shouting match.

"Sherlock, I told you, there's nothing left at the scene!" Lestrade sighed, rubbing his temples and obviously irritated, "When I say this job was done well, it was done damn well. There's barely anything left of the structures, let alone anything else."

Sherlock's faced sneered at the Detective Inspector, "Just because you think there's nothing, and your incompetent forensics team thinks there's nothing, doesn't mean that the evidence isn't there. I need to see it for myself, Lestrade."

"I can't let you onsite, it's too dangerous!" Lestrade shouted, exasperated, "It's bad enough when I let you on a case normally, think what would happen if I let you onto a hazardous site like that. It would be more than my job's worth!"

Sherlock spun on the spot, marching across the room and flopping down on the sofa that had already been covered in paper. He steepled his hands against his face, trying to concentrate on the facts he had already obtained.

Looking between the two detectives, John chose this moment to speak up, "Can I maybe ask, what's happened?"

Sweeping back to his feet, Sherlock stalked towards John, a stern look set upon his features.

"An army barracks has burnt to the ground," Sherlock stated, fixing John with a glare, "It's him, I know it is. This is the next step in his game, but Lestrade can't see it..."

A worried look crossed the doctor's face before he seemed to consider the situation, "You can't know that it's him, Sherlock. Could be another random terrorist attack."

Sighing deeply, Sherlock returned to his spot and waved his hand towards the door, indicating that they should leave.

"If neither of you is going to be useful, then leave!" Sherlock insisted, "Get out and inform me when you're actually going to stop 'doing your job' and let me do mine. This could be Moriarty we're talking about, yet you insist on following _procedure_..."

"Sherlock..." John started, but was immediately interrupted by Sherlock speaking again.

"No. Out. Both of you."

Rolling his eyes, Lestrade turned to stride from the room, tapping John as he left to indicate that he should follow.

Sherlock had returned to his deep thought by this point, and paid no regard to the two men as they exited the flat.

He couldn't understand the game yet, which was new to him. The transmission was timed so perfectly that it had to be for him, to keep him in the country. The question was, why? And now the barracks, what was the connection? Returning to standing abruptly, Sherlock sought out his cigarettes from their hiding spot in the living room. He steered clear of his other hiding spot, lest he succumb to that urge again. Right now he needed his brain clear to think, not addled as he had spent his days after John's wedding. He had lost his way for a while, fawning over the good doctor, but now he had found his path again. Sentiment was indeed a defect found in the losing side, and it was due to _sentiment_ that he had lost almost everything. He had become too dependent on the other man and had realised that too late. John Watson was not what he needed, this was what he needed. The game, the thrill of the chase, nothing more...

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Reaching the pavement in front of 221b, John withdrew his notebook and turned to Lestrade.

"Any information that you can give me would be appreciated," John paused, his tone had fallen softer, more considerate, "He means well but he forgets that he can't actually do whatever he wants, you might have thought the whole Magnussen issue might have taught him that."

Laughing slightly, Lestrade replied, "The day that Sherlock actually changes will be the day that Donovan admits that she likes him, not a chance in hell. Anyway, better get on with this, got to get back to The Yard as soon as possible. 2nd Battalion Princess of Wales Royal Regiment at the Royal Artillery Barracks in Woolwich. The barracks were burnt down today in broad daylight, with little to nothing left. Nobody knows how it was done, or who did it, but Sherlock seems to think that it was Moriarty."

Shaking his head slightly, a grave look had overcome John's face, "Definitely arson then? It does sound like something Moriarty might do, but as far as we know he's never targeted anything like this before. Well besides the Tower of London..."

John stopped to think over Sherlock's actions, could he see motive to these plans? And if he did, where from? The information that could be provided was so little that he couldn't possibly draw further conclusions; though if anyone could then it was Sherlock.

"Is there no way he can look at the crime scene, Greg?" John pleaded with the DI, it would make all their lives easier to let Sherlock onto the scene, even for five minutes.

"Unfortunately not," Lestrade replied, dejectedly, "If I could, I would but the fire crews say that nobody besides those that have been trained are allowed onsite. Hell, even I'm not allowed and I'm running the case!"

John sighed, running a hand across his face, "Well I guess he'll just have to put up with what he has then."

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mary was stood, back to the wall, next to Sebastian. They had been waiting for over an hour now for the boss to get back, though they were used to waiting longer.

Sweeping around the corner, he passed them by without so much as a glance and strode into his office, ignoring them completely. After about five more minutes, they heard him call "Come" and they entered, standing side by side, waiting for the verdict.

"So the buildings burnt flat, The Yard thinks there's no evidence and Sherlock is currently beside himself because he's not allowed access to the scene," he paused to consider his two, leading agents, "All in all, not a bad start, my dears..."


	4. A matter of national security

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm an absolutely awful person when it comes to updates! But in my defence, in the time since my last update I have moved to London and started a very busy teaching degree so there's that...
> 
> Again, thank you so much to everyone that's reading! It's amazing so, thank you! :D

"No Sherlock, there's nothing else..."

Mycroft was exasperated with the younger Holmes now. He was so caught up in the case that he was beginning to repeat himself, which was definitely unlike Sherlock. The detective was so determined that this was Moriarty that he was tying himself in knots trying to figure it out.

"The evidence in this situation is scarce," Mycroft sighed, "The transmission was completely untraceable and the arsonist was thorough, there is no evidence left at the scene, my people checked numerous times."

Flopping down into his chair, Sherlock let out an frustrated groan, "Why can't you be more useful and actually get me onto the scene, Mycroft? You have the power so why don't you use it?"

Snarling at the younger man, Mycroft crossed to the door, "The best specialists have checked the scene many times, now if you don't mind this is a matter of serious national security. If you hadn't noticed a British Military compound has burned to the ground and it has fallen to me to figure out who's incompetency let it happen."

Looking up from his place next to the fire, Sherlock watched his brother stalk out the room and down the stairs. What did he care for matters of national security? The game was on, yet the clues were limited. It was as if he had been given a jigsaw to solve with more than half the pieces missing. It was Moriarty, it absolutely had to be. The entire thing felt like him from top to bottom, he just couldn't figure out how he'd managed to survive on the rooftop. There had been little else on his mind since he had gotten off the plane and now he was growing tired. He was dancing like a monkey for Moriarty, and he had no doubt that the man was laughing at him. Another piece of the puzzle and he may be able to take the smug grin off the criminal's face once and for all.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John looked pensive as he unlocked the door of 221b and began to climb the stairs. He doubted that Sherlock was in any better a mood than when they'd last spoken but Mycroft had text telling him to go to Baker Street and sort out the detective. It was obvious that Sherlock had severely annoyed his brother and it was likely that he would in turn severely annoy John but he had to try.

Opening the door to the living room, he found Sherlock sat on his chair, staring forward. In his 'mind palace' then, he appeared not to have noticed John busying himself with making tea and rifling around until his hand stuck out to the side in an obvious gesture John knew well. Putting down the milk bottle, John crossed the room and handed Sherlock his phone from where it had been sat on the coffee table.

An annoyed growl was the next sound to grace the detectives lips as he threw the phone back across the room and onto the sofa.

"What did the poor phone ever do to you, Sherlock?" John asked, though he likely knew the answer.

"No news," Sherlock mumbled into his now steepled fingers, "Nothing. Not a word. What sort of a game is he playing?"

Shaking his head, John went back to making tea and left Sherlock to his contemplations. Pulling out his phone he decided to contact Mary, let her know that he would be home late, if at all. Knowing Sherlock, he would probably be busy all night.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sebastian looked up from his phone at the woman sat across from him. Mary was undoubtedly a very attractive woman, a true pleasure to work with. Her sadistic streak ran deep and it was fantastic to see the gleam in her eyes when she killed, it would certainly be a shame to have to kill her when the time came, but orders were orders. Anything he could do to please the boss was top order for Sebastian. When Mary had first been brought into their operation, Sebastian had been jealous. Before she had come, he'd had the consulting criminal all to himself and he had resented losing his place at the bosses side, as well as in his bed. Now he understood that Jim had done everything he needed to ensure that Mary was 100% loyal to their operation and trusted the other man completely.

"Boss says we have to move to the next part of the plan," Sebastian said, gruff voice immediately getting the woman's attention, "The virgin's definitely antsy so it's time to give him more."

Sebastian laughed as an enthusiastic smiled spread across the other blonde's face, "Let's hope he appreciates the jokes..."


End file.
